Sendai Frogs won again.

Tonight felt exhilarating. The crowd was buzzing like static, their cheers echoing through the stadium long after the final whistle. Reporters flocked to the court like moths to a flame, cameras flashing, pens scribbling — and Tsukishima, still in his jersey, finds himself standing at the edge of the court with a towel slung on his neck, strands of sweat-damp hair catching the stadium lights like gold thread.

This is troublesome, he concludes before the interviewer can start but despite his initial annoyance, he finds that glancing at the left side of the audience — he can make out the delightful face who’s been waiting for him.

The tension in his shoulders loosens.

The world, noisy and too bright, narrows until only that familiar figure remains. Suddenly, the ache in his legs, the sharp sting in his palm from the last block, the echo of his name being called again and again — none of it matters. It all dulls under the warmth blooming in his chest.

You were waiting in the audience, wearing the most beautiful smile you could ever muster — and of course, one of his jerseys that the others thought was a cute merch.

The questions begin, as predictable as ever — thoughts on the match, his performance, how the Frogs keep dominating the league. He answers them all with the usual careful ease. But then comes one wrapped in false simplicity:

Is there anyone who inspired your level of play tonight?

At ease, he answers with no hesitation. “Yeah, I’m dating someone.”

The air shifts, just slightly.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even bother to soften the truth or hide behind vague words. “They’ve been with me through everything,” He adds, tone neutral but firm, like he’s recounting stats instead of laying his heart bare. “Even when I was impossible to deal with.”

His gaze flickers left again, unthinking, pulled like gravity. He sees you — still smiling, eyes glistening like the polished court under stadium lights.

And for a second, the world blurs.